


I'm sorry that I'm myself

by ratbrain



Series: "I'm claiming Jon Sims for the neurodivergents" [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbrain/pseuds/ratbrain
Summary: "Jon had completely and totally fucked up"Jon accidentally Knows something about Martin, who in turn gets upset and asks to be alone. Jon's RSD makes sure that he definitely regrets it.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: "I'm claiming Jon Sims for the neurodivergents" [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020882
Comments: 26
Kudos: 244





	I'm sorry that I'm myself

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I'm just tired of seeing no one talk about how RSD fucks with your emotions/relationships with other people so I wrote this. 
> 
> Content Warnings!!!  
> \- major self deprecation/hatred  
> \- internalized ableism

Jon had completely and totally fucked up.

Of course he hadn’t meant to fuck everything up. Just like every other time where he hadn’t actually meant to do anything, he was just too stupid to understand proper social etiquette (“You need to learn what you can and can’t say to other people Jon,” he could all but hear his grandmother scolding him now, “otherwise no one’s going to want to be friends with you if you keep hurting their feelings.”) Jokes on her, he thought, no one wanted to be friends with him anyways because who wanted to be friends with the weird kid who read during recess? Turns out not many people. 

Okay, he had to calm down. He could do that, he could be calm. He had just fucked up the first meaningful relationship he had in however long and he knew this was going to happen because of course but he could stay calm. 

First step was to realize what he had done. He had just been sitting with Martin at the kitchen table, talking about random things to avoid having to start doing the dishes from their dinner that night. They had been talking about things they missed the most from growing up, most just being silly nostalgic little things. 

“Did you have a favorite childhood toy?” Martin asked, and Jon thought about it. He didn’t, really only because he didn’t play with toys much as a child, preferring books from an early age. 

“No, not really. What about you?”

“Oh me neither, really.” Martin answered, laughing albeit a bit nervously.

He hadn’t  _ meant  _ to know it (stop playing the victim card and admit you fucked up, he told himself) it just...happened. Like he could see everything at once and once he began talking he just couldn’t stop. 

“Yes you did, your stuffed teddy bear. You named him Bearo and you brought him basically everywhere, you even slept with him at night because you thought it kept the nightmares away. But your mother hated Bearo and she got rid of him while you were at school when you were nine years old.”

A silence fell over the table. Jon could see tears welling up in Martin’s eyes and he knew he messed up. Just as he was about to get up and comfort him Martin spoke. “I thought I lost him. She told me I just lost him.”

“Martin I’m-”

“Don’t Jon. Just, I want to be alone right now,” he said, pushing his chair back and walking upstairs. 

Jon wondered if he should have gone after him. He should have at least said something, that much he knew for sure. He shouldn't have just stayed silent as Martin trudged up the stairs, he just hadn't known what to say. Martin probably thought Jon had meant to be such an unfeeling prick and had purposefully left him to be sad on his own. But also if he went now would he be coddling him? He knew Martin needed space, but how much? 

Christ he hated this feeling. He swore sometimes it felt like everyone in the entire world had been given a guidebook of how every social interaction worked down to the letter except for him. He knew that wasn’t true, and that he wasn’t alone in this feeling, but in these moments he thought it more than anything. Why was he so bad at this? 

He knew Martin should hate him. The thought was sudden but once it was in his head it didn’t seem to want to leave anytime soon. Martin should hate him and realize he was a selfish prick and leave him right here. He tried to think of everyone, the few friends he’d managed to keep while being such a selfish dick and all the times they told him he deserved nice things. He wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe that he deserved all the comfort and warmth Martin made him feel, but at times like these he just couldn’t see what someone like Martin could possibly see in him. 

He wanted to make things better. 

He looked around the kitchen and made a plan in his head. Things were always easier that way, when you could plan them out and map out your actions. He began by cleaning all the plates off the dinner table. The safehouse was old and didn’t have a dishwasher, so normally he and Martin alternated who washed the dishes and who dried, although it almost always ended up in Martin washing the dishes because Jon could not stand the feeling of wet food against his hands. But he found some rubber gloves under the sink, so he didn’t mind it that much. It took longer with only him doing it, but he didn’t mind. He hummed to himself as he planned out what he was going to do next. 

He put the kettle on as he cleaned up the kitchen. He realized soon after he probably should have put the kettle on before doing the dishes so that it would have been ready by the time he was done, but time management had never exactly been one of his strong suits. He opened the cabinets, trying to remember which mug Martin had said was his favorite. 

By the time he was done he had two steaming mugs of vanilla chamomile honey tea (one sweetened with milk and sugar) and he walked upstairs to the room he and Martin shared. 

He knocked on the door gently. “Can I come in?” he asked, “I made you some tea?”

No answer. He had really fucked up this time. 

“Okay, um, if you don’t want the tea that’s alright, I’ll just leave it downstairs and, and you can come get it when you’re ready.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He’d made a plan and it was supposed to end in him and Martin talking everything out and him not focusing too much on himself and then the situation getting resolved. But that hadn’t happened, had it? Was making tea the wrong move? Probably, given his not exactly outstanding record on social interaction. Now the tea was going to get cold and he was just wasting one of Martin’s favorite things.  _ You may have supernatural abilities to know everything and yet you still can’t figure out how to not hurt people's feelings,  _ he told himself. 

Should he write a letter? Things did seem easier that way sometimes, when you could write everything down and edit out the parts you don’t like or explain yourself without sounding completely idiotic. No, no a letter would definitely be overkill. Besides, normal people didn’t have to write letters so why did he? Why couldn’t he just get his feelings out like a normal person and quit being so over dramatic about everything? What did he even have to be sad about? That his boyfriend was mad at him? Tough shit, he was the one who ruined probably one of the few good memories Martin had had about his childhood and-

“Jon?” He was pulled out of his thoughts by Martin coming down the stairs. His blonde hair was wet and he was in pajamas. Jon hadn’t realized it but in his spiral of self deprecation he had somehow ended up on the living room couch, curled up with his knees to his chest.  _ Idiot, can’t even pretend you’re alright.  _

“Yeah?” he said, sitting up and trying to act casual. 

“What’re you doing? Did you make me tea?” Martin asked, eyeing the now cool mugs still sitting on the kitchen table. 

“Yes, I went upstairs and offered it to you but you didn’t respond.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I was taking a shower so I didn’t hear you.”

“Oh.” Jon said quietly, staring down at the floor, eye contact feeling far too uncomfortable right now. 

“You alright?” Martin asked, sitting down next to him on the couch. 

“Of course. Are you alright?”

“I mean I’m still upset,” Martin said, and when he noticed the way Jon winced at his words a look of realization came across his face. “But it’s alright.”

“No, I’m sorry Martin I-”

“Jon, listen to me, alright? I know you didn’t mean to. I don’t know how all this stuff works, and I know you don’t fully know either. But I know that you would never willingly hurt me. It was just an accident. I’m still upset, yes, but I’ll be okay because I know you weren’t actively trying to make me upset. People make mistakes, Jon, it happens. But I don't hate you or anything because of it.”

At that Jon fell into Martin’s chest, sobbing and wrapping his arms around him tightly. “Oh, darling,” Martin said quietly as he held Jon close and kissed the top of his head. “It’s alright, there’s no need to cry. I’ve got you, it’s alright,” he whispered as he gently rocked Jon in his arms, running his hand up and down his back in what he hoped was a comforting manner. 

“I t-thought I l-lost you,” Jon said, hating the way his voice stuttered when he was afraid. 

“No, no of course not. I’m right here Jon, and I love you very very much.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, and for what he wasn’t fully sure. Everything, probably.

“It’s okay, just get it out. You’re alright, it’s all okay. I’m right here dear, I promise.”

They stayed like that for a while, Jon in Martin’s arms as he convinced him that everything would be alright. And it was. 

  
  



End file.
